I Promise to Live
by DistantSanity
Summary: An alternate version of the post-Mechonis Core plot, which describes how I think the Gadolt/Sharla storyline (among others) should have ended. Some violence and blood. Significant endgame spoilers. Reviews are always appreciated!
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:** In my many years playing video games, no in-game event has struck me as more traumatic and cruel than the scene(s) at the end of the Agniratha segment. At the same time, I know very little about what other people thought. Taken together, these two facts are the reason why I'm writing this fanfic: I will present my view of what the Agniratha events "did-but-shouldn't-have-done" to the overall plot and hopefully also encourage discussion. I welcome thoughts and reaction from Xenoblade fans of all perspectives! :)

I will follow the game's original story arc very closely, with only a couple of changes. Direct quotes are given in italics (or, in the case of this Prologue, in regular text) to make them easily identifiable.

* * *

_Whatever the future holds, we can never give in.  
__Not to Zanza… No, not even to our destiny.  
_~Shulk

_**Prologue**_

_In the space realm of Bionis, Zanza floated, contemplative. He lifted his hands slightly, so that he could take a closer look at his recently acquired twin blades. In one hand he held Meyneth's Monado, red as the lava in an underground cave; in the other, his own sword gleamed, blue as the sky itself—always seeming to brush up against the ground below while never quite touching it. He moved the swords to form an X shape in front of his face. Earth and sky. Bionis and Mechonis. Forever apart; forever at war._

_Eventually growing tired of these thought processes, he lowered the blades again and turned his gaze outward. In the deep black void, a number of lights shone out from among the planets. These were spirit lights, representing the souls of those who had fallen in his service—in service of the war that had led to the elimination of Meyneth. From this distance, they appeared as nothing more than vague greenish spheres, and though they must actually be very far apart, their glows seemed to blend together, until differentiating them from one another would be all but impossible. Zanza did not care to differentiate them. As long as they had served their purpose, that was all that mattered. And what a purpose it had been. It would not be long now. Very soon, the eternal supremacy of Bionis would be ensured._

_This realm was his realm; every object in it bended to his will, as was only proper. On this day, however, something was different. He frowned as he looked around. _Yes._ It was the spirit lights._

_Even as he watched, there was a faint _flicker.

_His frown deepened. The discrepancy had been tiny, momentary—it must be insignificant, a mere fluctuation dictated by forces of chaos—but even so, he had not willed the lights to flicker. Had something happened?_

_Closing his eyes, he sent his divine vision out of the space realm and into the world of mortals. He cast it backward, to reflect on the battle he had fought a short time ago—but from a different perspective this time, for he was a god and could see all that transpired in his world if he so chose. Looking out as if from a point between the two battling titans, he had a clear view of everything. There was the Mechonis' left arm, moving to block the Bionis' attack; the blow severed the bottom portion of the arm, which fell to the ocean beneath. The Mechonis appeared to draw back, resetting itself, and now Zanza could see its right arm as it made a great sweep through the water, sending a massive wave in the direction of the distant beach. As the wave went on its way, a very small object—an aircraft of sorts—could be seen, safe and sound, flying at a low altitude toward that same piece of land._

_Pathetic. He sneered._

_The battle raged on; the Mechonis raised its right arm, which was now dripping water, and drove it directly into the Bionis' chest, opening up a large hole. The Bionis fell back a step and readied the final blow; its sword lit up the heavens as it came down, directly on top of the Mechonis' head. Immediately, the Mechonis crumpled, and as various parts of its mechanical body came apart and plummeted into the water, its chest exploded in a blinding flash. All as it had happened before. To be sure, this must be considered a monumental event on the mortal level, but there was nothing in it that would be expected to cause fluctuations in the ether, at least not here, in the space realm…._

_As he pondered this, a new sound filled his vision into the mortal world. It seemed to be the distant echo of a voice, coming from inside the Mechonis, and it had a very slight metallic quality to it, as well as an edge of urgency:_

"I, too, have something that I must do. The final wish entrusted to me by Lady Meyneth_."_

_Zanza clenched his teeth in anger._

"_Egil…."  
_


	2. Chapter 1: Death

_Sharla's a really fine person.  
__That's why I hope Gadolt is safe. They could support each other.  
They both understand the pain of losing somebody.  
_~nameless "Refugee" NPC (Bionis' Leg)

**Chapter 1: Death**

Sharla stood on one of the gently rolling hills in the Fallen Arm region, some distance to the southeast of the Machina village. Leaning against a particularly large piece of Mechon debris, she gazed out across the water at the gargantuan figure that loomed in the distance, so far that it was nearly swallowed by the early-morning mist. Recent events had altered the figure's appearance considerably—most of its upper half was gone, as if someone had taken an enormous sword and severed it clean through—but nonetheless it was easily recognizable, and she would have known it even if she had no knowledge of the recent events, even if she had never been to this place before. The Mechonis. The titan that had robbed her of much of what she held dear, and had nearly taken the rest as well. Not a single tear had passed her eyes since the events in Agniratha, or since the party had traveled to the Mechonis Core to take out Egil. She had meant what she said to Reyn when they first came to the Fallen Arm, that Colony 6 people had to be emotionally strong because the ever-present threat of attack made them all too aware of the fragility of life. But a woman did not lose her longtime boyfriend (and intended husband) without being affected by the event.

It was moments like these, solitary moments, that took her back through everything she had seen on this very long journey… but it was not a journey, not in its essence. Better to call it what it was. The search. The memories took the form of a series of images playing out in her mind. Her first time meeting Shulk and Reyn in the refugee camp, mistaking them for Colony 6 soldiers, and asking them how their comrades were faring; the trip through the Ether Mine, the gunshots she had heard, and Otharon's account of what had happened; the bloodstained bottom of the Central Pit and the crazed look of that faced Mechon, Xord, as he declared of the colony people that he "_ate them all up_"; and finally herself in Satorl Marsh, stating her intention to find the man she loved. Being away from the mine had returned her to rationality, and the lengthy trip through the marsh had given her sufficient time to realize that a rifle left behind in the middle of a room did not prove anything. There had not even been any blood at the scene, according to Otharon's description. The more she had thought about it, the more she had become filled with hope. She had journeyed with Shulk and the others, never losing that hope, even when she went days and weeks without seeing the slightest trace of the one she sought. And how had it all turned out?

In some sense, she had accomplished her goal. She had found him. But in the final analysis, it was almost as if she had not.

It had all been for nothing.

She shook her head in irritation. It had _not_ been for nothing. To help Shulk in whatever way she could, to stop Egil and save the peoples of Bionis: those were certainly worthy goals. Their group had done some great deeds, had saved many lives. Even so, however, all it took was one casualty, one individual who could _not_ be saved, to make a person feel helpless.

Was this how Shulk felt when he had his visions of the future?

There was a flicker of something dark, moving amid the lingering mist. Her reverie shattered, she reached backward and grabbed her rifle, which she held ready in case of attack. Nothing happened; the animal walked on peacefully, and Sharla was alone with her thoughts once more. At this early hour, the silence of the still-awakening day was profound. Second after second went by, until at last that silence began to work mischief. Something in it conspired with the object she was standing next to, as well as with the rifle she was holding. _His_ rifle.

Suddenly, the mists seemed to speak with his voice.

"_If only I had more power!"_

"_I don't care if I'm the last man standing. I'll take them down!"_

"_I'll be fine. I'll be able to keep my mind on the battle knowing you're safe."_

"_Don't worry."_

"_I'll be right here…."_

They were wrong. Every word. None of them had come to pass. Her memories seemed full of falsehoods.

"'I'll be fine,'" she whispered, taking a few steps away from the huge remains of the Mechon as if that action could banish what was haunting her. "'I'll… be fine.'"

The sounds of his voice fled then, but a fresh series of images came to replace them. Events. Scenes. Him attacking the group in Mechonis Field, speaking of "_extermination_"; the strange audience that had followed the fight, where he had not heeded a word anyone had said to him; Fiora breaking the curse on him following the battle in Agniratha; him falling to the ground; herself running to his side, believing that everything would be all right.

That last image put her over the edge. Dropping down on one knee, she hefted her rifle, put it against her shoulder, and began to shoot at the Mechon debris. She fired at a frantic pace, until the ammunition was exhausted, then reloaded and fired some more. That last image, however, did not recede. After so long a search, to be so close to safety…

She squeezed the rifle's trigger, but nothing came out: her third cartridge was exhausted. Lowering the weapon, she hurled it to the ground as the tears welled up within her. This time, they did spill over.

"Gadolt… Gadolt…"

_Until then… stay safe…_

"Gadolt… you fool!"

"Fool" was right. She stuck by what she had said to him that day when he had been shooting at his own formation of Mechon debris, that death could have no meaning even if it was for a reason. Even if it accomplished something. There was nothing to be gained by being reckless.

Still kneeling at the top of the hill, she sobbed violently while conflicting emotions tore at her heart. At first a strange mix of anger and sadness, they slowly morphed into just sadness: the perfect complement to the question that burned in her mind. She reached out to touch the rifle that lay next to her, ran her hand lightly down its barrel, and asked herself why such a wonderful man had had to endure so much pain and hardship. Several minutes passed in this fashion, but no answer had revealed itself by the time a faint sound reached her ears. It was a voice—a familiar drawl, calling her name.

Quickly, she brushed her hand across her eyes to dry them and picked up the rifle once more.

"Just doing some target practice," she said at last, when she was certain that her voice would not shake.

"So I can see," the voice replied. "But…"

There was a pause. Looking up, she caught sight of the big redhead who stood a couple of feet away from her. The boy normally took "awkward" to an entirely new level, but this was a level or two above _that_. He held one hand behind his head, scratching it as if in confusion, and his face was rapidly turning pink. As the seconds went by, he took a step backward as if he were having second thoughts about this… whatever he was doing.

"What is it, Reyn?" she prompted him.

"Right, well… about that… I just wanted to say, Sharla… that I'm sorry."

"Sorry?"

"Yeah. About all the bad things I said about… well, you know. Like, back when we were in the mine."

"Ah." Her gaze went to the rifle in her hands. "I can't pretend I don't know what you mean."

"I know." He shuffled his feet in embarrassment. "I can't help it, I'm always saying dumb things. I was just…"

His voice faded at that moment, but the echo of the word he would have spoken seemed to linger in the air. _Jealous._

"Reyn," she told him firmly. "Don't worry about it. It doesn't matter."

He gave a start. "Doesn't matter?"

"Right. When you finally met him, you were kind to him. That's what matters, and it's what I'll remember."

"Even though he didn't listen to a word I said," he muttered ruefully.

"It's the sentiment that counts, Reyn."

"Well… yeah, I guess so. But what about his sentiments? What he said to you—_'I've fulfilled my promise.'_ What did that mean?"

Before replying, she took a deep breath to calm herself. "That was from before the colony was evacuated. He was under orders to stay behind and continue to fight, and I made him promise that he would get out alive. Ironic, isn't it?"

"Well, I mean, he did it, right? What you asked him to do. He got out of there, and you saw him again after that."

She sighed. "I suppose that was his logic as well." Rising to her feet, she walked over to the Mechon debris, laid her hand against it, and stood facing away from Reyn. "I know it does no good to dwell on it. But I can't help thinking, the rest of us weren't that far away, and we all got out unharmed. If Fiora's protective spell had covered just a little more space, then maybe…. Not that I'm blaming her, of course; I'm sure she did the best she could…."

"I'm sure she did," he echoed.

"I haven't told Otharon yet—about any of it. I don't know where to begin. He's going to be devastated." She bowed her head as unpleasant thoughts filled it, and then abruptly turned back around. "Tell me, Reyn: what do you think of Egil?"

"Egil? He saved us—went from fighting us to helping us in an instant, and it was amazing. We'd never have made it out of Mechonis if he hadn't used the last of his power to hold off the Bionis so we could escape."

"I thought you'd say that," she said, nodding. "I know I should feel the same way, but there is so much that I just can't get past. What he did to my colony, to your colony, and to"—she faltered—"to the people. He didn't address any of that in that confrontation—and yet even if he had, even if he had apologized, nothing can erase the pain and suffering he inflicted on the peoples of Bionis. That war, and everything that followed from it—we can't just pretend it didn't happen. And there are some who will feel its effects for the rest of their lives."

"I think…" Reyn hesitated and shuffled his feet again.

"It's okay—you don't have to say anything. It's helped me feel better just to talk about it a little. And I should get back to the village anyway, to see how Shulk is getting on."

"Of course. These Machina are nice enough, but they don't know how to heal an injured Homs as well as a Homs would. And"—he winced—"that was a nasty gunshot wound."

"Yes—that it was. I'll head back now, then." She walked a few steps past him, then stopped and turned around. "Thank you for this, Reyn."

"Anytime," he said enthusiastically. "If you ever want to talk, Sharla… I'm here."

She quirked an eyebrow. "I think that's the most considerate thing I've ever heard you say. I like it—keep it up."

He jumped a mile, and she found that she could manage a smirk as she went on her way. She did not mean anything by it, of course. It was just friendly teasing—friendly camaraderie. In this next stage of her life, her friendships with her fellow companions would be her refuge. Hopefully, those friendships would give her the strength she needed to help in the coming battle—to do what was necessary for the sake of their world.

...

After Sharla had gone, Reyn remained where he was. For a few long moments he just stood there, shaking his head; then he went over to the Mechon debris she had been shooting at, which was now riddled with bullet holes, and spent a few more minutes staring at it. A low growl escaped his throat as he pounded his right fist into his left palm.

The source of his disquiet was no secret. All of the other companions, most of the villagers they had met on their travels, and probably even some of the monsters they had fought in the field as well, knew that he had a massive crush on Sharla. He had, in fact, had it almost from the first moment of his seeing her. By all rights, this should be his moment of triumph: his rival had been gotten rid of. That growl of his, however, had had nothing triumphant in it, for it was hard to be happy when he saw Sharla brought so low. He had seen her crying just now—when he had been approaching her to start the conversation—even if he had had the common sense not to let on that he had seen anything. She had dealt with a great deal of adversity in her life. Coping with all of that had made her a very resilient woman, but _this_ was a heavy blow that could break her altogether. It was a wonder that she had not been left completely demoralized.

Feelings for Sharla, then, were the reason why he, Reyn, was mad at Gadolt.

Still studying the bullet holes in the Mechon debris, he cast his mind backward, to reflect on the events in Agniratha. Gadolt had been healed, despite all the odds and with help from that Lady Meyneth. His memory and consciousness had been restored—and yet the first thing the man had done after that, the first decision he had made, was to blow himself up, and right in front of his own girlfriend to boot.

That was not the way of a soldier.

As Reyn's thought processes continued, he shook his head again. No, it was not at all the way of a soldier. A soldier should value life, because a dead fighter can do no fighting. He had expected as much from Gadolt—had expected better. According to the accounts the Colony 6 people had given about him, he was supposed to be not only a sharpshooter, but also some kind of incredibly amazing guy. Hence, another reason behind Reyn's feelings of jealousy in those early conversations with Sharla, Otharon, and others. He had often found himself being compared to Gadolt, because of some alleged similarity between them, and had always come out on the short end of the equation. Well, on this issue, at least, it appeared they thought differently. All Reyn had to do to form his opinion was consider what the consequences would have been if something similar had happened to Fiora after she was healed and removed from her Face armor. It would have destroyed Shulk. There was no reason to believe that Sharla's feelings for Gadolt were any less powerful than Shulk's feelings for Fiora, and if Gadolt was to be expected to know one thing, it would have to be this. Sharla's feelings for him. That, if nothing else, should have prevented him from acting as he did.

Of course, a person could argue that Gadolt _did_ take Sharla into account: he had saved her, along with the rest of the group. But here, another force came into play in Reyn's mind. It was a force that Sharla would call his bullheaded stubbornness, and it came in the form of a refusal to accept any sort of negative finality. There could have been another way. There was _always_ another way. That Face armor worked by remote; it could be positioned somewhere without a need for its operator to be physically inside it. And yet, by all appearances, Gadolt had not even considered using this feature. Even though using it would mean a chance of survival.

"It just ain't right," Reyn muttered to the air. "She deserves better."

As was in his nature, his anger boiled over until it obscured all thought. Any questions that might have been lingering in his mind—questions about what he would do about this situation—were completely lost. Only one decision made its way through his foggy consciousness: he would do all that he could to help Sharla feel better about the whole mess.

At length, he raised a hand to his head. There was a reason why he was normally one for resolve and determination, not so much for deep thought. It was giving him a headache.

"_There_ you are!" said an imperious female voice somewhere behind him. There could be no doubt whose voice _that_ was.

"Melia?" he asked, turning around somewhat sheepishly.

"At last, I have found you!" she declared. "Your presence is requested back at the village."

The anger fled and was replaced by the typical Reyn grin. "Presence? Requested? You're a funny one, Melia."

"I cannot say I share your amusement," she said dryly, tapping her foot in impatience. "Whatever you are doing standing about here, you should put a stop to it at once if you do not wish to be left behind."

"Left behind? So we're leaving?"

"Indeed. The medical staff is reporting that Shulk is well enough recovered to allow us to move Junks, and now that the Bionis is no longer moving, we should be able to relocate safely. We are going to Colony 6, where there might be better resources for Homs medicine. And now, by informing you of this, I have discharged my duty. Join us, or not, as you please."

With that, she walked away. Watching her go, he smiled to himself. She really was a funny one. And her intervention had been a very welcome distraction.

Turning away from the Mechon debris, he made his way back toward the Machina village. The sun was high in the sky now, and just at that moment, its rays glinted off the water that was by Digit 1 Crevasse, slightly to the west of the giant debris. There, a short distance from the shore, a distinctly green pile of wreckage bobbed up and down in time with the passing waves.

...

The sun was making its way toward the west, and the shadows of approaching sunset were just beginning to cover the Fallen Arm, as the two Machina left the village. One was Voltak, assistant to the Machina doctor; the other was Rakzet, who made it his life mission to rescue people in need.

"Do you know when Linada is expected back?" asked Rakzet.

Voltak shook his head. "It depends on how long it takes for Shulk to recover, and also on what his friends' plans are. Linada has assigned me to deal with any medical situations that may arise in her absence, barring anything extremely life-threatening that would require additional expertise."

"Then let's hope that this object we're going to investigate is not what we think it is," Rakzet replied.

"I don't know what to expect from it," Voltak said truthfully. "It was discovered a little while ago by a small party that went out to gather supplies. Apparently, it doesn't look anything like the other wreckage that recently washed ashore from the Mechonis. This made the party suspicious, so they told me about it… and now I am telling you."

"As well you should," Rakzet agreed. A brief silence fell.

A few more minutes brought them to the shore of Digit 1 Crevasse, which was littered with piles of twisted black metal. They stepped warily around these, lest a Krabble be hiding underneath one of them. Fortunately, however, it appeared that most of the local wildlife had been frightened away.

And then they had reached the shore's edge, from which the unusual object was clearly visible. In the fading light of afternoon, the wreck's main color was only just recognizable. A medium-dark jade green.

Rakzet took a step into the water and then hesitated.

"Is it too far for you to reach?" Voltak asked.

Rakzet shook his head. His hesitation had a perfectly good rationale: water was damaging to Machina bodies. The green object was quite a few feet away… but with luck, the water would be shallow enough that he could wade the whole distance. Taking a deep breath, he walked into it.

He grimaced as a sort of crackling sound emanated from the spot where his legs touched the water. His body was protesting, wanted to shut down…. He shook his head and tried to ignore the feeling, and at last, when the water was about chest-high, he arrived within an arm-length of the wreck. Reaching out, he found that his arm obeyed him just enough to allow him to grasp hold of the nearest edge. The metal was cool to the touch. He tugged on it, and with the help of the tide, dragged it toward the shore. When it ran aground, Voltak helped as well, and the two worked together to haul the massive object out of the water and onto the beach.

"You all right, Rakzet?" Voltak inquired when they were done.

"Yes," Rakzet answered. In truth, the brief excursion had taken a great deal out of him. Taking an extra step away from the water, he waited for some indication that his arms and legs were back to their normal function. He moved his fingers experimentally, tried to make them into a fist—after a few tries, he was able to, albeit at a slower speed than usual. All in all, not bad for a trip into the water.

A look back at the wreckage he had just dragged ashore revealed that the edge he had grabbed belonged to the remains of a long, thin, beige-colored object. A similar but slightly smaller structure could be seen just below it. Evidently some kind of cannon, though the weapon that would once have been between the two halves was long gone.

"Definitely Mechon," he muttered.

"Definitely," Voltak agreed. "And it's been in an explosion."

It was true. The entire wreck was severely burnt and misshapen. Only one of its greenish arms remained more or less intact, the other one being charred and twisted almost beyond recognition. And a couple of feet away lay another portion of the large metal frame—evidently having snapped off in the exercise of dragging the wreck ashore—which displayed the twin legs that were usually found on large Mechon. Rakzet idly brushed some pieces of seaweed from the cannon-like structure as he pondered what sort of a Mechon this was and why it had been found here, with nothing nearby that looked anything like it.

"Look at this," Voltak said suddenly, pointing to a spot to one side of the immense cannon, where there was a sizeable area of grayish metal. A great deal of it had been blown away, but even now it was recognizable as a portion of a structure that resembled a long, narrow face. One eye remained as proof of this, its usual red having now grown dark.

Rakzet gasped.

"I knew it," Voltak continued grimly. "A Face."

"Looks like it," said Rakzet. "But why—"

He was cut off by Voltak turning away sharply. "What Egil has done to these Homs…. It's unforgivable."

"Easy, Voltak. Don't you see? How it ended up here, I mean. If it fell into the ocean following the explosion, it would have ended up at the Mechonis' feet. It's quite a bit heavier than other types of debris; unlikely it would have floated here on its own. But if you remember, during the battle…"

Voltak turned back around and nodded slowly. There was no need for Rakzet to say any more; it was as if the image hung in the air between them. The Mechonis' right arm moving of its own volition, sweeping through the water as if to create a great tidal wave. A wave that would have been aimed directly at the Digit 1 Crevasse.

"Egil wanted us to find this one," Voltak said finally, holding on to the remains of a giant green-and-gold shoulder as if for support.

"I believe so, yes. We know he was controlling the Mechonis' movements. And he would have known about our limitations as Machina."

"But why? Do you suppose someone is still inside?"

Rakzet shrugged. "I don't know. You tell me."

Shakily, Voltak leaned down to take a closer look. Unlike other Face models he had seen, this one did not have an obvious panel in the chest area; a narrow silver spine served to connect its top half to its bottom half. Well, that explained how the bottom half had snapped off. But then how…?

A soft _drip, drip_ put a stop to his thought processes: water was leaking out of a hole behind the frame's head area. So. That was where the compartment was. But if ocean water had become trapped inside, any Homs' chance of survival must be slim.

This area was severely scorched, and something had made the metal dent inward at a fairly sharp angle; evidently, whatever had hit this Face had come from behind. There was a large panel that appeared to be the entrance to the inside compartment; it, too, was burnt and looked about to fall apart. Voltak took a moment to steel himself and then pulled the panel open.

Long moments passed. Voltak stood silently, apparently staring at the space inside the panel. Rakzet held his breath. His view of that region was blocked by the fact that he was standing at the wreck's front. He could have moved, but—truth be told—he did not want to see what was in there if it was not what they were hoping for.

Finally, Voltak took a step away from the destroyed Mechon. Without a word, he began walking back in the direction of the village.

"What are you doing?" Rakzet demanded. "What did you see?"

Voltak turned around and regarded the Machina rescuer with an unreadable expression. "I'm going to the village."

"Well, yes, but—"

"To send word to Linada."


	3. Chapter 2: Sacrifice

_As for him… he'll be fine. Don't worry._  
~Fiora (Agniratha)_  
_

**Chapter 2: Sacrifice**

"_Do you wish to change it? The future."_

Alvis' voice seemed to reverberate inside Shulk's skull. Groaning weakly, he raised a hand to his head as he made his way, slow step for slow step, across the lower level of Junks. The action, however, did not help at all; the environment still spun nauseatingly around him. He closed his eyes briefly and then reopened them—and, for an instant, the image he found himself confronted with was not the vehicle's slowly approaching exit, but rather the whitish and mist-covered place, surrounded by stone spires, that had appeared in his dream from Tephra Cave.

The vision was gone as quickly as it had come, but when it vanished, so did the young swordsman's remaining strength. Dreams. Illusions. Why did they plague him so?

He tried to take another step forward, but his legs failed him. Staggering sideways, he slumped against a wall. Harsh, ragged breathing escaped his lips as his hand went instinctively to his chest—to the location where the bullet had entered his body.

Meanwhile, Alvis' voice continued its monologue.

"_It is every man's desire to change the future. Is that not so?"_

It was so. But…

"Shulk!"

The gentle Machina voice snapped him out of his reverie. Turning, he beheld Linada's tall figure, which was approaching him rapidly.

"You shouldn't be walking around just yet, Shulk," said the Machina doctor. "You're not well enough."

"No, I'm all right," he insisted, pushing himself away from the wall. "By the way…" he went on, more as a distraction tactic than anything else, "thank you for this." He held up his brand-new replica Monado, whose brilliant blue light shone brightly—just like that of the real Monado.

"You can thank the chief for that," Linada replied brusquely. "When did you wake up? I checked on you not half an hour ago, and you were still soundly asleep."

"I think it was that siren from a few minutes ago that woke me. Do you know what that was?"

Linada's dark eyes dimmed in sadness.

"You are in Colony 6 now, Shulk. And the colony… is under attack."

"Attack? By what?"

"Telethia."

Shulk frowned. What were Telethia doing here? What had he missed during his period of unconsciousness?

The confusion faded quickly, however, and he felt his hand clench over his sword hilt.

At that moment, the door opposite the exit swished open, and a member of the Junks staff hastened to Linada's side. "Urgent message for you, Doctor…"

Surprised, Linada turned to look at the newcomer. "What is it?"

Shulk did not stay to hear what the messenger had to say. Taking advantage of the doctor's momentary distraction, he sprinted away as fast as his legs would carry him. He just barely caught the words "Fallen Arm" on the edge of his earshot before he was through the exit and out in the open air.

On and on he ran, through the colony's main street, past buildings that had only recently been rebuilt from the Mechon attack. For these people to endure another invasion even as they were trying to pick up the pieces from the last one… it was beyond cruel. Fortunately, however, it appeared that most of the action was taking place outside the colony.

Shooting out of the colony and into the grass-filled field beyond, he cast a quick glance around his surroundings, and what he saw took his breath away.

The sky was filled with dozens of Telethia, arrayed in an orderly formation, evidently awaiting their opportunity to join the fray on the ground, where a handful of their hideous brethren were engaged in a battle with a small group of people. There was a flash of familiar yellow light: ether, emanating from Melia's staff as she summoned the power of one of the elements.

Horror spread through Shulk's entire being as he looked on. No vision was needed this time to tell him that his friends were in imminent danger. They were doing their best, but they had all they can handle even against a small fraction of the enemy's forces—and they were without the Monado, which could dispatch Telethia with ease.

As if on cue, the echo of Alvis' voice, which had been silent for some time, rose from the depths once more.

"_Even if everything has been predestined, will you not oppose it?"_

It was not the only time Alvis had spoken to him about the future, that time in Tephra Cave. But at this moment, the words from that dream rang true. Even if he were without the real Monado, he still had sheer force of will on his side.

He broke into a run, aiming slightly to one side of the battlefield, a split second before one of the hovering Telethia left the formation and came screeching downward from that side to catch its enemies unawares. Leaping into the air, he landed on the Telethia's shoulder before the monster even hit the ground, and drove his sword into the smooth bluish flesh. His boots soon lost their traction, but that was fine: it was what he wanted. Skidding downward, he dragged his sword along with him, opening up a massive, bloody wound. Finally, right when he would have dropped back to the ground, he jumped higher and swung his gleaming blue blade at one of the beast's three heads. The blow severed the head altogether, which flew through the air as blood spurted fountain-like from the monster's neck. Its other two heads roaring in pain, the Telethia toppled over and thrashed about, but Shulk spared it barely a glance as he ran to engage one of the other Telethia that were attacking his friends. And, with every hit his sword landed, he reminded himself anew of why he was doing this.

Reyn in Tephra Cave, the Arachno Queen's grotesque leg shattering his weapon and tearing into his torso. Sharla and Juju, their limp bodies hanging in the grip of a Mechon's tentacles amid the fire of Spiral Valley. Otharon, his slight Homs form falling into an immense, shimmering green ether river. Fiora's silver Face armor, slipping over the edge, falling a fatal fall as Galahad Fortress collapsed. All were futures he had strived to prevent—_had_ prevented—in order to protect his friends. But so too were there futures he had not been able to prevent, even though he had seen them beforehand. The Emperor's lifeless body, pushed sideways by Metal Face's giant, bloodstained claws. And even Metal Face—Mumkhar—himself, pierced through by the debris that fell from the fortress' roof.

This was why he fought. To make sure nothing like those last two images would ever happen again. To achieve peace. To teach Zanza something about the preciousness of life. He, Shulk, _would_ oppose any negative fate—predestined or not—until there was no breath left in his body.

He blinked suddenly as he registered no incoming Telethia attack. A moment's glance around the battlefield confirmed the reason why: he had slain them all. Four massive bestial bodies lay, bleeding their last, on the green grass.

A hand clapped down on his shoulder—well-intentioned, but so forceful that it nearly knocked him over.

"That was _great_, man!" exclaimed Reyn's enthusiastic voice.

Shulk looked up into his friend's grinning face and managed a weak smile of his own. Movement behind Reyn signaled the approach of the rest of the group.

Slowly, Fiora extricated herself from the crowd. A bashful smile appeared on her lips as she gave her lifelong friend a quick once-over. "It's good to see you, Shulk," she greeted softly. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I'd say he is, after that display!" Reyn boomed delightedly.

"Shulk bash Dinobeast on Dinobeast head!" Riki agreed, bounding into the mix.

Shulk's smile grew wider as he surveyed this group of dear friends, who had been with him through thick and thin over this journey. All had warm smiles on their lips and spoke words of friendship to their recently awakened companion. Only Melia's smile did not reach her eyes, which had something of sadness in them as her gaze wandered from Shulk to Fiora and back.

"I'm glad to see you're doing better, Shulk," Dunban said finally. "But don't overdo it—you're still recovering."

"That's right," Sharla interjected. "You wouldn't want Linada and I to have to patch you up again, would you?" He shook his head and was about to say that he would definitely _not_ want that when there was a sort of fluttering noise up in the sky. The group looked up to see a single Telethia descending slowly from above. A blue-clad, blond-haired figure could be seen standing on the winged beast's back.

"Not him _again_…" Reyn groaned.

"He's the one who shot you," said Melia, her eyes now even sadder.

Shulk nodded. "I know."

Dickson's scratchy voice split the air then—uttering some insult or other, to which Dunban shot back a reply in tones of acid. Without a doubt, this was trash-talking time. As further insults came down from above, Shulk looked around at his friends again. His gaze lingered longest on Fiora, Reyn, and Dunban. The ones who had been there from the beginning. The ones who understood best.

"Never mind him," he said firmly. "Just watch out to make sure he doesn't send more Telethia after us." He hefted his replica Monado, held it at arm's length in front of himself. "Soon enough, we'll show him _and_ Zanza who has the real upper hand in this fight."

And as his friends looked into his serious blue eyes, not one of them could disagree with him.

...

The companions' journey proceeded with very little delay. After the battle outside Colony 6, the group went inside the Bionis and rid the world of the High Entia traitor, Lorithia. The battle was draining for everyone, but for Fiora it acted as the culmination of a fear that had been building in her heart for a long time. A fear that her part-Mechon body would not last long enough for her to see the final battle through alongside Shulk. It ate away at her to such an extent that she was less effective than before at hiding her worries from the others—and, of course, the lengthy and difficult battle that she had just participated in did not help matters. And so it was that, shortly after the conclusion of the operation in the Bionis' interior, she found herself on the receiving end of some "persuasion"—which a less kind person would have called "bullying"—on the part of Sharla. Partly to appease her friend, and partly to ensure that this matter would not be talked of anymore, she used an opportunity when the rest of the party was resting and headed for the upper level of Junks.

As her metal feet clanged up the stairs, she found herself in a surprisingly good mood. Yes, her malfunctioning body was a concern, but when that was set aside, she had several reasons to be hopeful at this moment. The group had prevented the Telethia from doing serious harm to Colony 6 and then had managed to defeat Lorithia. If everything continued in this way, they would be at the final battle before they knew it, and she had no doubt that her friends' courage and positive attitude would lead them to victory. The world would be better off without Zanza; everyone would be happy. And if this came to pass quickly enough that she could be there to see it, then she would be happy too.

She reached the top of the final staircase and then stopped in her tracks, her optimism and good cheer evaporating as her greeting to Linada died half-spoken.

For there, playing out before her eyes in the small infirmary, was a scene of obvious, intense human suffering. Linada was bent over the sickbed in the middle of the room, tending to a figure that lay stretched out there. The figure moved not at all—not even a reflexive movement of the head or limbs such as people often make while sleeping. And it appeared that this was starting to get to Linada. As she straightened up and turned away for a moment, her low spirits could be clearly seen in her slumped shoulders. She studied the floor beneath her for several seconds and let out a long, gloomy sigh.

Fiora turned to leave, but the loud impact of her feet against the floor betrayed her. The Machina doctor turned in her direction, and slowly but surely, her troubled expression gave way to a smile. "Hello, Fiora. Here for a checkup?"

"Well… y-yes… but I can come back later…. I didn't realize you had another patient…."

"You don't have to go, Fiora," Linada said kindly. "Yes, I have a new patient. Another Face unit, unfortunately. A couple of our people found him washed up near one of the Fallen Arm's beaches. Based on the way his internal systems are put together, I believe he may represent a later model than your own, but"—she shook her head sadly—"he's so badly damaged that it's hard to tell exactly."

"Damaged?" Fiora repeated. Tentatively, she took a step into the room; perhaps it was a morbid curiosity that led her there. Linada gestured with her hand in the direction of the sickbed to indicate that Fiora had permission to enter.

Fiora bit her lip as she studied the motionless figure. Linada was right to use the word "damaged." A Face unit was a damaged body anyway: a tortured mix of flesh and machine, having elements of both Bionis and Mechonis but not fully belonging in either world. _This_ Face, however, appeared to have suffered severe external trauma. Much of the figure's dark-green-and-yellow length was littered with scattered burn marks, and there were areas that seemed to have melted a bit from close proximity to something very hot. Most conspicuous, however, were the many areas that were giving off faint sparks as if they were mere seconds from bursting into flames. Shorted circuits; shattered circuits. And as Fiora took this all in and bowed her head in sympathy, it began to dawn on her: something was familiar about this guy….

"It's bad," Linada said quietly. "As long as he remains where he is, the bed's life support system will keep him fairly stable, but the short-circuiting worries me. It can't just be from contact with the water; Voltak said that there wasn't that much ocean water trapped inside the compartment. It almost seems as if whatever nearly destroyed this Face and his armor was, itself, somehow electrical in nature."

And it was that comment that clinched it. A memory of the Mechonis' awakening rose to the front of Fiora's mind, along with an image of the electrical explosion that had ensued. She looked downward again, with these thoughts in her head, and was now fully able to recognize that she was looking at the slightly altered, unconscious visage of the man who had put himself in the path of that explosion. It appeared that Linada had cleaned him up a bit by doing away with the unnecessary pieces of machinery that had been installed in his head area, so that, from the chin up at least, he had the look of a normal Homs. And that discolored right arm, too: although it was still not quite the color that it should be, at least it no longer sported the purplish-gray shade that evoked thoughts of circulatory problems. For all that he looked healthier in these respects, however, that fact was apparently not translating into his coming out of whatever coma he was in. He still had a long way to go in that regard, as evidenced by the fact that the skin of his face, formerly of the hearty suntanned color typical of soldiers, was now close to his pale blond hair in shade.

Faint footsteps sounded as Linada moved closer, and Fiora felt the need to fill the lingering silence.

"I… I know this guy."

"You do?" Linada asked, surprised.

"Yeah. He saved us in Agniratha. We all thought… well, we thought he got blown up."

"Ah." Linada gave a quick nod. "That makes sense. I heard about what happened. It can explain why he shows signs of having been in an explosion but was not completely consumed by it. The burn patterns you can see, and those on his armor as well, indicate that the blow was deflected: not by much, but enough to spare him the brunt of it. My guess would be that the spell you cast to save your friends gave him some small protection as well—most likely, he was on the very fringes of it and was then propelled outward, at which point he fell down to the ocean."

"My spell…" Fiora repeated absently. The news should have pleased her—that she had been able to help—but her mind was too full of other images to fully process what had been said. Images of a good friend downstairs who would give anything to know that this man was here.

"There's something else you should know, Linada," she went on. "Something else about him. He's… Sharla's fiancé."

Linada pursed her lips in thought. "I… I see."

As she reflected on her new idea, Fiora was able to manage her first smile since entering the infirmary. "I'll go get her now… she'll be so happy…." Turning, she took a few steps in the direction of the stairs, only to see Linada step into her path.

"I'm afraid I must ask you not to tell anyone about this," Linada said gently. "Especially Sharla. If this man is as dear to her as you say, then it would be cruel to get her hopes up only to dash them."

"What do you mean?" Fiora asked, her smile slipping. "Is he not going to make it?"

Linada sighed. "I don't know. Repairing shorted circuits is one thing, but there is another aspect to this that I don't quite understand yet."

"Is it energy? I remember that when I was first rescued, my energy stores were very low, even though I had Meyneth's Monado to keep my systems running. Maybe… maybe I could give him my Piezoelectric Unit?"

"Fiora." Linada shook her head and laid a gentle hand on Fiora's shoulder. "I know you want to help—it must be hard for you to see someone going through the same ordeal you endured—but you can't do that. It would, essentially, trade your life for his."

Fiora opened her mouth to protest, and then heaved a massive sigh. No. Linada was right. She couldn't do that to Shulk.

"I just feel bad, that's all," she said at last, turning away and walking back toward the middle of the room. "He lost his memory because of me—because of the early Faces' rebellions against Egil. He's suffered so much, Linada—I just want him to come out of this okay."

"Well, if we're lucky, he will. This may not even be a problem of energy, and if it does turn out to be one, we can send out a party to look for another Piezoelectric Unit in the Mechon debris. No… what worries me is something else. As you can see, he is thoroughly unresponsive—doesn't move at all except to breathe. It's been this way the whole time he has been here, and it makes me think that we may be dealing with a deeper issue, which may or may not be directly related to how close he came to death. It is almost as if there's a part of his consciousness that isn't here."

"A part of his consciousness? You mean the part of him that's a Mechon?"

Linada shrugged. "Perhaps. I think it's a reasonable guess, given the mechanical damage he has suffered—though of course we can't know for sure."

"But if that's the case, then the part of him that's a Homs should be taking over, right?"

"In theory, yes."

"Then why…" Fiora paused a moment, then let out a gasp as the answer hit her. For a former Face unit, Homs identities could be problematic. She remembered all too well how she had felt immediately after she had been released from Egil's control. "_The Fiora you knew is dead_." No doubt he—Gadolt—had experienced a similar feeling: remembering he was a Homs, while at the same time knowing that his Homs body had been taken from him. That could be a reason why he had been so willing to sacrifice himself in Agniratha. The bleak outlook. The lack of hope. But there was always room for hope. Even as she herself was struggling with a slowly weakening body, the first thing she clung to, and the last thing she wanted to lose, was that hope. That feeling deep in the heart, that slight glimmer of a belief that things might turn out okay after all.

"I know what you should do," she told Linada, nodding firmly. "Give him a rifle."

"A what?"

"A rifle. Everyone says he was a great soldier before all of this happened. You can put it right here, next to him—and hopefully, it'll remind him of his old life and who he really is."

It took some rummaging in one of the Machina storehouses, but finally they located a rifle that could be spared. Fiora propped it up against the side of the sickbed, close enough that if he woke up and reached for it, he could touch it. Hopefully, this would work. What a former Face needed more than anything was two things: one, an identity; and two, a reason to live. This should give him at least the former, if not the latter.

Her task done, she stood still a moment longer and closed her eyes.

"Meyneth…" she murmured. "Meyneth, wherever you are, please keep this man safe…"

* * *

**Author's Note:** You may have noticed that the "vision montage" during the Telethia battle doesn't quite match what we see in Shulk's actual dream. The in-game montage doesn't mention Mumkhar, and does mention Gadolt. I don't see Gadolt as belonging in the group of "vision people" because he was never the subject of a vision; there is no pre-existing "bad fate" that Shulk and company are trying to prevent. I think (though of course I could just be biased :P) that Gadolt, more than any other story-critical "good-side" NPC, has the power to change his own fate—an idea which receives support from the many statements other characters make about "what he would/will do." As a result, at the moment that he is released from Egil's thrall, he is very much the master of his own destiny; Shulk and his wish to save people really have nothing to do with it. And as for Mumkhar... he _is_ a person who was the subject of a vision and whom Shulk tried to save. Helps to bring out the point that all life is important.


	4. Chapter 3: Love

**Author's Note:** In this chapter, italics = dream sequence.

* * *

_He's not giving up.  
__The stories about Gadolt of Colony 6 are true.  
_~Dunban (Agniratha)

**Chapter 3: Love**

The Fallen Arm region was fairly quiet after Shulk's party left. The group had done a good job of reducing the numbers of the Mechon that prowled the area, and fewer Mechon meant fewer Mechon attacks. Although the Machina villagers still had to be careful when they walked around outside, they at least had a reasonable chance of avoiding trouble as long as they stuck to a handful of predetermined paths.

All in all, it was as uneventful a time as the Machina had seen since Egil had begun his campaign of vengeance against the Bionis. And that meant that, when word reached Rakzet that someone wanted to meet him at the village entrance, his first reaction was one of puzzlement.

Stepping out of the narrow doorway, he blinked in confusion at the scene that greeted him. For there, arrayed in the grass a few feet up ahead, were all the Homs of the Fallen Arm: the two former soldiers, Karlos and Theo, and the woman, Natalia.

"Did something happen?" he inquired, alarmed. "Is someone injured? A casualty from the battle that was recently fought on the sword?"

The three Homs shook their heads, and it was at this point that Rakzet noticed they were all smiling.

"No, nothing like that," Natalia replied, stepping forward so as to be at the front of the little group. "It's just an idea we had, of something to show our appreciation."

"Appreciation?" he repeated.

"You have done much for us," said Karlos.

"In one way or another, all three of us owe our lives to you," Theo added.

Natalia nodded fervently. "You save lives at all costs, without being asked to do it, and it doesn't matter if those lives are Machina or Homs or anything else. For a while, we've wondered what we can do to say thank you—but now, finally, we've hit on the perfect solution."

Rakzet fidgeted in embarrassment. He did not rescue people because he wanted this kind of attention; it would be completely fine with him if those he saved never said a word about it to him afterward. But these three were obviously very enthusiastic about something, and now they were walking up to him, encouraging him to come with them. Though he was not entirely on board with this whole endeavor, he allowed them to usher him away from the village.

To his surprise, they led him directly to Digit 1 Crevasse. Upon arrival, he paused a moment and looked around: the area's appearance had changed drastically since the last time he had been here. The lengthy stretch of beach was completely clear now. Only a few deep indentations in the sand revealed that those ugly masses of metal had ever been there.

A hand tugged on his arm—Natalia—and he followed its owner down to a spot near the intersection of sand and water. Karlos and Theo were there, standing on either side of a long, rounded, and narrowish wooden structure. Propped against one side of it was a pair of wooden objects that looked like poles with a flat blade on one end. Oars?

"A boat?" he asked, bewildered.

The three Homs beamed.

"We decided early on that it wouldn't do to just get you any old present," Theo explained. "It had to be something that would help you with your goal—to save as many people as possible, no matter what. The question was only… what that 'something' could be."

"The Machina's problems with water gave us the answer," Karlos put in. "We know that your most recent rescue was a close call for that reason. But with this, you can row out to wherever there's someone in distress, drag them aboard, and row back."

Rakzet smiled and thanked them. They flipped the boat over and were soon engaged in a demonstration of how it worked and how it had been carefully designed to allow someone to reach over the side without capsizing the whole thing. He watched them for a minute or two and then found his gaze lifting to the wreck of the Mechonis that stood as a backdrop to this little scene.

Anything that could assist in the saving of lives was all right in his book. Without a doubt, this gift of the boat was a practical as well as thoughtful gesture—even if it was not the first solution to this particular problem that had ever been offered. For what Natalia, Karlos and Theo were addressing now, Egil had known about even before.

...

The hush of pre-dusk was beginning to cover Colony 6 as Fiora walked down a series of stairs and sat herself down on a simple stone bench, which looked out past a cluster of Nopon homes to the small lake that lay beyond. This remote corner of the colony was one of her favorite spots. The preference was not due to a lack of buildings elsewhere in the colony, as the residents had by this time made a great deal of progress in reconstructing their home. No… it was due to the residents themselves. Most of the citizens had been very welcoming and accepting to the Machina, but they still stared when they saw _her_. Inadvertently, of course: it was not their intention to offend. It was just strange to see a person who looked to be part Homs and part machine.

This place, then, had become Fiora's refuge during the party's extended stay in this colony, which was intended as a time of rest and preparation as they geared up for their upcoming expedition to Prison Island. And since the small lake was at this moment occupied by the massive form of the vehicle called Junks, her thoughts as she sat there naturally took her back to what she had witnessed inside that vehicle about a week before.

After the encounter between Fiora and Linada on the upper level of Junks, the Machina doctor had formally closed off the small sickbay to the rest of the party. The other companions had appeared to take the mandate in stride; after all, the room was Linada's private work space, and it was not as if they would ever have a pressing need to go in there. Not one of them had expressed suspicion that more was afoot than Linada had said—not even Sharla, who was studying Machina physiology with Linada and had seen the venue for those lessons suddenly changed with no real explanation. This lack of a reaction on Sharla's part had been mildly surprising to Fiora.

Deep down, of course, Fiora knew that what was going on was not her business. But even as she was able to acknowledge this, several considerations ensured her continuing interest in the matter. First was the fact that—even though she had never exchanged a single word with the man and was still a bit fuzzy on the details of his original disappearance—she felt a sort of kinship with Gadolt because of the fate they had both suffered at Egil's hands. That, in itself, would have been enough for her to wish him a full recovery, but there was also the fact that Meyneth herself had taken an interest in him. Twice, he had inspired her consciousness to show itself: first when she had surfaced to free him from the curse that Egil had put on him, and second when she somehow sensed his wish to protect the group and awakened once more to save everyone as Agniratha was blowing up. There was obviously some sort of lesson in that, in these actions of Meyneth's, if Fiora could only figure out what it was. Those were the first two reasons, and they were powerful, but the third one trumped them both: namely, the profound sense of concern and sadness she felt on Sharla's behalf. She had no doubt that Gadolt's love for Sharla was—or had been—true; it was simply inconceivable that he could have intended to create a situation like this.

For no matter how brave Sharla sounded on a day-to-day basis, no matter how many battles she helped the party win, it was clear to Fiora that something was not right. Most conspicuous was the fact that she still preferred to take Gadolt's old rifle into battle and would not hear of replacing or upgrading it, even though shops all over Bionis were stocked with the latest and greatest in firearm technology. Additional evidence came in some of the party's idle moments, when she would get an oddly distant expression on her face, and only a well-timed remark from one of her friends could bring her back from wherever she had gone. It could not have been more evident: she was in terrible pain, and only her strength and fierceness of spirit prevented it from consuming her entirely. Which, of course, made it all the more difficult for Fiora to be the observer: having knowledge that would ease that pain, but not being allowed to speak of it in case it did not pan out. And not panning out was a distinct possibility. Health could be a fragile thing, as the group had learned more than once on this journey, and this particular case seemed set up for failure. A man sunk so far down into—_something_—that he could not wake up or even move….

Just then, as if these thought processes had conjured the woman into existence, Sharla emerged from Junks' main entrance. Linada quickly appeared next to her. Fiora studied the faces of both as they passed by: their expressions were neutral, and they seemed to be discussing a topic related to physiology. No doubt they were on their way to the park on the other side of the colony, where today's lesson would take place. Sighing, Fiora leaned against the back of the bench. All that was left for her now was watching and waiting. Waiting and watching. She could try talking to Linada directly to obtain an update—Linada had not specifically prohibited _her_ from entering the sickbay—but Linada would certainly take the opportunity to perform a checkup. To look into the current status of Fiora's own failing body. And _that_ was a subject to be avoided at all costs….

"Fiora!"

The exclamation shattered her reverie. She looked up, and the sight that met her eyes was enough to banish her brooding thoughts for the time being.

"Shulk!"

"I brought this for you," said Shulk, holding out a medium-sized water flask. "The others will be eating dinner soon."

She smiled and accepted the flask from him. As he sat down next to her on the bench, she observed that he had brought a sandwich for himself, and no sooner had he seated himself than he began to eat it, ravenously, as if he were hungry as a Nopon. The scene was strikingly reminiscent of that time in Outlook Park, when _she_ had made a food delivery to _him_. He was even sitting on her right, as he had been on that day. But how much had changed since then.

"You've seemed a little down lately," he commented suddenly. "Are you feeling okay?"

Startled, she looked up in the middle of unscrewing the top of the water flask. For all that he had started out attacking his sandwich with fervor, it was now clutched in his hand, half-eaten and perhaps half-forgotten, as he looked directly at her.

"It's… it's not about me, Shulk," she said slowly, twirling the flask so that the water within swirled like a whirlpool. "Don't worry. I've just… been thinking, that's all. About fate."

"Fate?" he repeated, puzzled.

"Yeah. If someone's destiny was to die, here, in this war… what purpose does that serve? Why would some force out there require one person to die at a specific time? And is it possible that someone like that could come out of the war alive after all?"

"Of course it is. I've seen from the very beginning of this journey that talking about someone's 'destiny' may not be correct to begin with. The future isn't set. We can choose it for ourselves, if we have the will to and if the circumstances allow it."

"But if someone has the choice, and chooses to die?"

He frowned, and even in the fading light of evening, the concern was evident in his blue eyes. "I hope that would never happen, Fiora," he said seriously. "That's suicide. And it would be letting Zanza win. Proving him right."

She nodded. "I know. It would be. But it does happen. And it doesn't… well, it doesn't affect just the one person. It affects everyone."

She looked away for a moment and lifted the flask to her lips, but by the time she had taken two sips, Shulk's mind had made a connection.

"You know something, don't you?" he asked curiously. "This isn't like you—talking about fate like this. Is someone in danger?"

Embarrassed, she flushed. Had she been that obvious? "Please, don't ask," she pleaded. "I promised I wouldn't tell anyone. You'll probably find out about it eventually, if everything goes well."

Though clearly stunned, he did not press her further. Sitting back in his seat, he took another few bites of his sandwich. A brief pause ensued.

"I've been thinking about it a lot, as well," he went on at last. "Especially since we've learned the truth about who the Bionis is. I think, if there is such a thing as fate, the next thing we have to ask is what determines a person's fate in the first place. Who writes it? Is it Zanza? I'm not sure. You know what he thinks of us—that we're all insignificant. I doubt he would care about the details of our lives and our futures. No, I think we write our _own_ fates: as individuals, and as a people—_all_ the people of Bionis and Mechonis."

"_You_ wrote fate, Shulk. With the Monado—it sent you visions of what was going to happen. But it's gone now. Zanza has it."

He shook his head. "I don't need it. Do you remember what Meyneth said?"

"She said a lot of things to me…" And a lot of those things were lost now. Forgotten. She bowed her head in shame.

"Said about the Monado, I mean. That the Monado is the light inside every person in the world. The internal will to survive. _That_ is what's most important—not the sword, not the visions. The _people_ are important. We're going to need everyone in this fight: Homs, Nopon, High Entia, and Machina. And if we all have one another, then I know we can stand up to Zanza."

Fiora could feel her lips moving to form a small smile. "You're very confident," she commented.

"We got you back, Fiora," he said simply. "We can do anything if we put our minds to it."

That sentiment was enough to make her smile widen—and enough to enable her to finish her water.

"Shall we rejoin the others now?" she suggested, seeing that he was finished with his food as well. He readily agreed to this, and as the two went on their way, there seemed to be a sort of spring in his step; perhaps he was pleased that he had been able to cheer her up.

Up the stairs they went, toward the main area of the colony. In so doing, they had to turn their backs to Junks. The hulking mass of the vehicle floated placidly atop the lake. Silent. Normal.

No outward signs betrayed the fact that something was, at that very moment, happening inside the small sickbay.

...

_Gadolt floated amid a vast nothingness. Covered in mist. Covered in darkness. The environment was featureless, and besides the thick mist there was only a wind that gusted occasionally, pushing some of the fog's gaseous black tendrils toward him; they wrapped around him, perpetuating the darkness, deepening the eternal night. He did not wonder where he was, for he knew at once what this place was. It was the expanse of his mind. Empty._

_Abruptly, some of the mists parted, and he could see a spot of yellowish light some distance ahead. The spot came closer, slowly but steadily, until he could identify its precise nature. It was a spotlight of sorts—though its source was indeterminate—and in the middle of it floated a large object. A rifle, gray and brown in color, the front end of its barrel pointing upward. Lit on all sides by the yellowish light, it seemed to shine—to invite him to come closer._

_He tried to take a step, and found that he could. So he was not floating anymore; he was standing, though on what kind of surface, he could not tell. Bit by bit, he made his way through the black void; the mists swirled in response but did not threaten him. At last he stood immediately before the spotlight, and reached out to take hold of the weapon that floated therein—_

_There was a _crash_ as a long, thin leg slammed down just in front of him. A moment later, the rest of the immense metal frame could be seen: the spotlight illuminating its jade color and the twin cannons over its shoulders. The frame swiftly lowered itself; its hideous narrow face cut directly into his line of sight. Its red eyes glowed in warning as its mouth opened to let out a tremendous roar that seemed to set the whole world shaking._

_He staggered backward, away from the rifle. If he had had any breath, that sight would have taken it away. When he finally dared to look toward the yellow light once more, he saw that there was now a figure standing on the metal frame's left shoulder—right where _he_ had once stood to conduct an audience, or thought he had. This figure was the figure of a man, scruffy in appearance: dressed in shabby blue clothes, his face framed by a small amount of stringy blond hair. There was something smug in his small eyes as he opened his mouth and spoke, seemingly to the air._

"Lord Zanza can see the passage of fate. He simply led you to the inevitable…. That grunt Gadolt's miserable demise."

_Demise._

_Demise._

_Demise._

_Inevitable._

_He staggered again, and as he staggered, a second figure appeared opposite the first one, on the jade-colored frame's right shoulder. The second figure was Machina, its gaze turned downward, and it quickly added the sound of its voice to the empty void._

"I see that your memories cause you much suffering.

"Be still, my servant."

_Looking up at the two figures, he stood motionless now, unable to make a reply—if indeed he could speak at all. He was no longer sure that the rifle was even there, behind the Mechon frame. And the two men atop the shoulders—both looking at him now—seemed to stare into his very soul._

_No future… no past…_

_Something flashed then—a new light. This one was a pale green in color, and it swept in from above to obliterate the metal frame and the two figures with a resounding _boom_. When the sound faded, something else was already there to replace it: the laughter of an evil deity, echoing from all directions._

"_Pathetic."_

"_You are but an insect. Insignificant."_

"_Look. _This_ is all that you are."_

_The green light swirled toward him, ever brighter, shattering the dark mist. He shrank away from it, but it quickly enveloped him—_

_Suddenly, the light was gone, and his surroundings were clear. Stars and planets could be seen, twinkling in the blackness. He stood in the vicinity of a dark moon, looking down as if from above at a small group of people that stood facing him at a distance of a few yards. At the front of the group was a beautiful, dark-haired woman, her expression sad. As he studied the woman, and her friends behind her, he felt movement on his right side: a cannon was lowering itself to lock into firing position. The cannon had a transparent quality to it and was greenish in color._

_Now he understood. The green light had not gone away. It was inside him now._

_The dark-haired woman's eyes grew wide with horror, and she receded a few steps. Taking a step toward the group to prevent their escape, he felt his ghostly Mechon body lower itself, slowly and methodically. All was set now. The two halves of the cannon's shell opened, and he prepared to open fire—_

"No."

The single word seemed to reverberate from all corners of the dark sickbay. And then, moments later, a pair of yellowish-green eyes opened.

Those eyes looked around for a few seconds before settling on the shadowy object that was visible a foot or two off to the right: the back end of a rifle, placed within easy arm's reach.

...

The space realm was still—quiet—but Zanza was not. As he looked around at the planets, anger burned in his mind. Once again, something was not right; something was not under his control. Idly he brandished one of his Monados, as if that action could bring everything back into its proper order.

The feeling, however, did not recede. Irritably, he lowered his sword and focused his divine vision on the spirit lights, which had been the source of the last fluctuation. With the added focus, he could now distinguish the various green lights from one another. There were four distinct glows. Three of them were solid, unwavering, but the fourth one was flickering erratically. Zanza frowned as he looked on.

The fourth light blinked at an ever faster rate, bright and dim, bright and dim—

And then, suddenly, it was gone.

* * *

**...to be continued, but I'm hoping to gather some feedback before then; I'm dying to know if there are any other Gadolt fans out there xD And even if you're not a fan, I'd love to hear your thoughts on the whole Agniratha business... **

**Also, I've added quotes above the first two chapters as a way to bring in some of my "author/player level" points that are hard to make in the actual story. These, however, represent only a small sampling of how this man is talked about in a positive/hopeful light throughout the game O_o**


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